


Dead and Back Again

by KeraScene



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Comics), Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616
Genre: Canon Divergeance - GotG v3, Fix-it Fic? Probably, Gen, Post-Cancerverse, Pre-Secret Wars (2015)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-04
Updated: 2017-09-05
Packaged: 2018-03-16 06:26:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3477821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KeraScene/pseuds/KeraScene
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“He is not our Peter Quill,” Mantis repeated, and it sounded as ridiculous the second time around.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Rebirth

**KNOWHERE, THE SEVERED HEAD OF A CELESTIAL**  
**FORMER HEADQUARTERS OF THE GUARDIANS OF THE GALAXY**  
**TWO WEEKS AGO.**

“He is not our Peter Quill,” Mantis repeated, and it sounded as ridiculous the second time around.

Adam Warlock stared across the table in contemplative silence, head resting on balled fists, struggling to process this information. Mantis-- who, being the Celestial Madonna, had little trouble finding the newly reborn avatar of life-- initially contacted Warlock under the pretence of preventing a series of temporal anomalies in the wake of Ultron's most recent defeat. That, on its own, was threat enough to galvanize Warlock into action. 

Time would only tell if he had the strength to succeed. His recent resurrection had not been quite as traumatic as his rebirth in the midst of the Phalanx Conquest, but he returned a weakened, exhausted shell of his former self, to the news of dying universes and a series of cracks-- fissures in time. His powers were broken, just as his universe was, and a recent run-in with Thanos-- and his own counterpart from another universe-- confirmed Adam Warlock's suspicions that the unnatural end of everything in existence was approaching. 

Now, amidst this death of time itself, Mantis was asking him to join her on a rescue mission.

If Mantis was wrong, this represented a complete and utter dereliction of his duty as Avatar of Life, when his universe needed him the most. At best, they were chasing ghosts. Peter Quill and Richard Rider were dead, or trapped in a fate worse than death, and leading a doomed mission to rescue them wouldn't change that. At worst, they were unleashing the Magus on two unsuspecting universes, re-opening a portal into the cancer-verse, that grotesque mirror of his purpose. Life, left unchecked, propagating across a doomed universe like a tumor. After all, it was the Magus who released the Galactus Engine into their universe, and it was the Magus who was killed by Lord Mar-Vell of the Revengers, unleashing the plague of un-death upon the universe.

If Mantis was wrong, they risked releasing the Magus again, and this vicious cycle would play out anew, upon a weakened universe, and the combined forces of the galaxy would not be enough to stop them. Galactus was trapped in a pocket universe. The Celestials were being slaughtered on every plane of existence by the Beyonders. If Mantis was wrong, he was consigning the universe to near-certain doom.

Mantis was never wrong.

If this other Peter Quill, this aberration from the Cancer-verse, was gallivanting across the galaxy, corrupting his friends and allies, then the result could only be the antithesis of Warlock's purpose. His mind was decided, and with universes dying left-and-right, they had little time to spare. After all, it may already have been too late.

“A dimension without Death,” Adam Warlock said, finally. “I suppose it's possible, even _probable_ , that our Peter Quill was... supplanted by his duplicate.”

“I am certain that was the case,” Mantis asserted.

“I don't doubt you, Mantis.” Adam Warlock said, standing up from his seat and placing his hands flat on the table. “However, and it pains me to admit this, but an attack on the universe of un-death requires a certain level of its antithesis. Attempting to rescue Peter and Rider without an Avatar of Death on our side would be suicidal-- _worse_ than suicidal.”

Adam paused, turning the idea over in his head. It was a bad idea, certainly, and one they would regret. “We're going to need **Thanos**.”

“Thanos is... unavailable. Trapped in a block of frozen time by his son.” Mantis shuddered. “Encased within a prison of living death.”

Adam Warlock blinked.

“Death has not yet chosen her new avatar.” Warlock replied.

“No,” Mantis said. “Not yet. But this one believes she has found a suitable candidate.”

“You have my full support-- but I can't do this alone.” Adam Warlock said. "We need a team, like the old Guardians. A proactive team, capable of preventing another Annihilation-Class event occuring while we search for Peter."

“For obvious reasons, none of the members of the current team are available.” Mantis said. “This one has reached out to several other former members of the team to compensate. In two hours, Vance Astro will politely decline the invitation, having spent the past two years supporting the reconstruction of several borderworlds abandoned on both the Kree and Skrull sides of the conflict. In six hours, Bug and Jack Flag will be on their way to Knowhere, despite any of their complaints to the contrary, and once word of our rescue operation reaches Hala, Ronan the Accuser will pledge his support out of begrudging respect for Peter Quill, though he will not join the team.”

She paused. 

“Cosmo has been listening to this entire conversation on the security monitors, and upon realizing the severity of the situation, will assist us without reservation. Heather Douglas has already accepted her invitation, though she has not yet responded, and the team will be meeting her on Sacrosanct.” Mantis said, pausing again to take a sip of her tea. “It would be an abuse of my precognition to inform them of their involvement. Especially with time in such a fragile state.”

"I was remade to combat the death of universes." Adam Warlock said, finally. "If that goal ever comes into conflict with the well-being of our team, the well-being of Peter Quill and Richard Rider, it will take precedent over everything."

"I understand." Mantis replied.

"Good." Adam Warlock said. "I suppose we're reforming the Guardians of the Galaxy, then."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because how Marvel see Peter Quill and how I see Peter Quill stopped lining up when Brian Bendis took over the book.


	2. Martyr

**SACROSANCT.** **TWELVE DAYS AGO.**

As far as Jack understood it- which, granted, hardly counted for much whenever cosmic crap was involved- their Peter Quill went into the Cancerverse and another Peter Quill came out. Worse, this new Peter came out with a similarly messed-up Drax and probably made a deal with Thanos of all people to ensure his freedom. If it was their Peter, their Drax? They were turn-coats at best. At worst, they were a ticking time bomb ready to explode into another Annihilation event.

Oh, and, just for kicks, a newly-resurrected Adam Warlock dragged Jack Flag back to Knowhere and told him that entire universes were being killed by a force outside of anyone's mortal comprehension and that they needed him for a _rescue mission_.

Jack felt it was worth reiterating that he was a kid from Arizona who grew up wanting to be Captain America's sidekick.

Jack also felt it was worth reiterating that he _hates_ cosmic shit. And although he was ready to jump feet-first into hell to get their fearless leader back from the Cancerverse, he wasn't quite ready to go back to the blighted planet where Thanos had been reborn, and killed one of their own. Which is why, when Cosmo teleported the team to Sacrosanct, Jack Flag swore under his breath and told the self-titled Celestial Madonna:

“You best have a damn good reason for bringing us here, girl.” 

“This one is sure of it,” Mantis nodded, doing that strange hand-to-head motion that Teeps tended to be fond of. Discomfort spread across the rest of the team. It wouldn't be the first time that Mantis _suggested_ bringing the team together to further her own agenda. “This one tracked Heather Douglas to this planet several standard days ago. She received word that Phyla-Vell was on this planet, alive.”

“But you know otherwise.” Adam said, breaking his aloof silence.”

“Yes.” Mantis nodded, with some regret. “Phyla-- I felt her die. There's no way she could possibly be alive. Not here.”

"But Heather thinks she is.” Jack replied. "And you think Heather'll help us find Peter."

“If she's looking for Phyla-Vell, yes. If we enter the other universe, we need protection against the life-without-death. An avatar of death would suffice. And if not Thanos--” Mantis winced, clutching her temples. “We must hurry. This one can keep us shielded from their view for now, but beyond that... The Church of Universal Truth won't take kindly to our presence on this world.”

“Is that why we're **\-- tik!--** working with pirates?” Asked the Bug.

Rachel Summers, their liaison with the Starjammers, shifted her weight onto one leg, arms folded. Corsair and his Starjammers were unwilling to intervene in the mission directly, but one of their shore crew was willing to assist them with their investigation. The Guardians had worked with her before, briefly, during the Shi'ar-Inhuman War. Apparently, she spent the year in-between changing her get-up. All red-leather trench-coat and spikes and arrogance.

Truth be told, Jack missed the miniskirt.

Summers just glared at him. _Right_ , he remembered. _Teeps._ Jack endeavored to keep his thoughts to himself from there on out.

“I'm not a pirate,” Summers replied, indignantly. “I'm a former Phoenix host. Predisposed to resurrection, should the need arise.”

 _Well then_ , Jack thought. _We start as we mean to go on._

They hiked five kilometers through the blighted remnants of Sacrosanct's capital city, still burning from their last fight with Thanos, before the five of them stopped to take stock.

Bug and Summers, the most experienced trackers, scoured the burned buildings for signs of life. Refugees, squatters, scavengers, anyone who could point them in the right direction. Mantis was, as far as Jack understood, searching telepathic frequencies for Moondragon. Telepaths have unique signatures, as distinct in thought as in writing, and Mantis hoped to pick out Heather's, and follow it to the source. Meanwhile, Adam Warlock was off by himself, ruminating over a projection of two planets-- two Earths-- colliding into one another. Jack, feeling pretty useless by himself, asked Adam about it.

“Everything lives.” Warlock spat his response, defiant. “It lives, before it dies.”

Before the two Earths in his hands could intersect, one was destroyed in a gigantic explosion. He fell silent. Warlock, despite his resurrection, was still Adam Warlock. Cryptic as ever.

“She's close,” Summers called, crouched over a makeshift camp in the burned-out rubble that used to be a library. Jack tried to keep that out of mind. Think about the casualties in a galactic-scale war and you'll do your head in. "These tracks are fresh. Less than a day old.”

“She could be anywhere by now.” Jack said. “Can't she turn into a dragon? Coulda just flown her way out of here.”

“She can't- **tik!** \- turn into a dragon any more.” said Bug.

“See, this is why I hate cosmic shit.” said Jack. “How the hell are you supposed to keep up with that?”

His thoughts turned, briefly, to the fact that they would, inevitably, have to fight against the Guardians. Rocket, Groot, Gamora, Drax, hell, even that new Captain Marvel he'd heard so much about. Half of them probably didn't even know their Quill was missing. Still, to the rest of the galaxy, those guys were the same guys who stopped the Annihilation, the Phalanx Conquest, the War of Kings, and the incursion with the Cancerverse.

As soon as word got out that they were opposing the Guardians of the Galaxy? All hell was going to break loose. All Jack could hope for was that they could keep a low enough profile to keep the rest of the galaxy off their backs until they had time to prepare.

“There.” Mantis said, finally. She pointed a gloved hand towards a building on the outskirts of town, seemingly untouched by the mad titan's rampage. A lone monolith against the flattened wastes. The Church worshiped the Magus-- Adam Warlock's evil half-- but this, this was something else entirely. A heresy. Black rock jutted inwards towards a towering spire, hued purple in the sun, with ridged marble pillars etched along the base.

It suddenly dawned on Jack Flag that this structure wasn't left alone by choice-- it was the eye of the hurricane. This was a temple to Thanos.

And inside, the remnants of a cocoon.

 

* * *

 

“This.” Jack exhaled. “This-- This is why I'm allergic to cosmic shit.” 

In the centre of a vast antechamber stood a cocoon, suspended from the ceiling by a series of thick, inorganic vines which oozed a thick, greenish pus onto the cold stone floor. A rancid stench emanated from the spent cocoon, piercing Jack's lungs through his nose and mouth and burrowing somewhere deep within his stomach. He retched, twice, and continued to dry-heave while the others offered a closer inspection of the fetid mess.

“It's not mine,” replied Adam Warlock, to nobody in particular, but Jack didn't need to be a Teep to know that was the first thought on everybody's mind. Warlock had died, and now Warlock was back, and the only possible explanation was that the Church of Universal Truth had brought him back to life. “This twisted monstrosity-- this was the vehicle that birthed Thanos back into our galaxy.”

Bug traced a line down the length of the rotting techno-organic cocoon. It was too neat to be natural. If Thanos had clawed his way out, there would have been signs of a struggle. It would have been opened in chunks, not in one clean, sharp stroke.

“That's an incision.” Bug said. “Thanos didn't-- **tik!** \-- burst out of it. It was cut open.”

“By who?” Jack asked.

As if to answer his question, Jack heard a commotion coming from one of the connecting chambers.

He brought his laser pistol to bear, instinctively, and swung around looking for a potential point of entry. It was too dark to see into either of the exits. The only light in the antechamber came from two torches on either side of the room. Both had almost burned-out. Only embers remained. Jack hated that sense of anticipation. Waiting for an ambush.

Knowing that something, or someone, had your number, but being unable to prevent it.

He signalled for Bug and Summers to watch the west chamber while he and Mantis covered the east. He motioned for Adam to join him, but Adam waved him aside. More interested in divining the origins of the cocoon.

Cap had a voice that could command a God. Jack couldn't even keep his own team in line.

Damn it. Peter should have been doing this. Or Rocket. Hell, even Drax was a better commander than Jack was. The last time Jack Flag had tried to lead _anyone_ he'd ended up imprisoned in the Negative Zone by Tony Stark.

Funny how, when he came back to Earth, all the Avengers were all buddy-buddy again.

Mantis brushed his arm aside. Flag lowered his pistol, but motioned for Bug to remain ready in case this whole thing was a trap.

Jack saw a figure in the distance, and moved his finger from the trigger-guard onto the trigger. He wanted to be the first to fire a shot in the event of this thing going to hell. Mantis brushed his arm aside. Flag hesitated. His aim wavered. Finally, he relented, lowering his pistol. Motioning for Bug and Summers to stay alert in case this whole thing was a trap.

Finally, though, someone spoke.

  
“Heather?” Mantis asked. Her eyes went wide. The silhouette approaching them, though faint, definitely resembled a bald woman. Not exactly a rare sight on Sacrosanct, but Jack took his victories wherever he could find them. 

The woman emerged from the shadows, cradling a long-dead corpse. Jack allowed himself to relax, dropping his shoulders and slipping his finger off the trigger of his pistol. She was, unmistakably, Moondragon, despite the wear and tear, though her gaunt face and dark eyes made it look like she hadn't slept-- or eaten-- in days. Which meant that the body she was cradling was-- well, it didn't bear thinking about. They looked far worse. Like someone had immolated them before they killed them.

“I-- I thought you were lying when you told us she was dead.” Moondragon said. Her voice was unnaturally calm. Like she had torn out the part of her brain where emotions were supposed to go. “There had to have been something... Some kind of cosmic loophole. She was the avatar of _death_ , for dast's sake.”

She sighed.

“Oh Phyla.” She wept. “You stubborn, bloody idiot.”

The pieces of the puzzle started falling into place. Martyr-- Phyla-- she had been tricked into bringing Thanos back to life. By someone telling her it was Adam-- or someone trying to relieve her of her duty. Either way, she was dead. The first one to be killed.

So much for their Avatar of Death.

“Alright,” said Jack, conscious of the fact that their mission hinged on recovering someone who was quite clearly dead in Moondragon's arms. “What do we do now?”

“Bring her back.” said Adam Warlock. He surveyed the room with his quantum magic before continuing. “Can you not feel it? Phyla is still in this place.”

“What do you mean?” asked Jack.

This. This was why Jack-- Ah, hell. You know how it goes.

“The blast-- it didn't kill Phyla.” Adam said. He seemed distracted, as if he was viewing multiple realities. Or potential realities. “It sent her... somewhere else. In the gap between dimensions. Pure energy. It's similar to my last resurrection... no cocoon...”

“Okay.” said Jack, pretending that any of that made any sense to him. “How do we get her back?”

“Chronoskimming.” said Summers. She opened her mouth as if to explain it, before shaking her head. “Just roll with it.”

She paused.

“I imagine that's why you brought me along.” said Summers. Jack noticed, ever so slightly, that Mantis nodded. He wondered if she realized.

“Jack Flag.” Mantis said. “The process requires you. Your unique position in the timeline. We'll need to use your mind as a conduit.”

“What,” Flag asked. This sounded like a drug thing, but he was willing to give it the benefit of the doubt. “Back in time?”

“You don't need to go back,” Mantis said. “We need to go sideways. That's why it has to be you.”

Well, who was he to argue?

Jack lay flat on his back on the cold marble ground, bandanna around his neck and Rachel Summer's hands firm on his temples. He winced, slightly, and she felt it necessary to reassure him that the proceed wouldn't hurt. Jack responded that his dentist told him that before his last root canal and that hurt like hell too.

Mantis and Bug watched the door. Mantis' psychic shield had burst, and the Church of Universal Truth could burst through the door at any moment. Knowing that really didn't help when he was being pinned down and told to relax his mind.

Scratch that. This was totally a drug thing.

Jack closed his eyes, heard shouting from the east chamber, and came unstuck in time.

* * *

 

It's difficult to remember a dream after the fact. Whatever happened in the chronoskim, it sure as hell felt like a dream. Jack remembered, when relaying this experience to the camera for Mantis' mandated psychiatric evaluations, that it felt a little bit like falling between the cracks in the universe. Adam Warlock would understand.

Just... blank nothingness. An endless void of white.

And a red-cloaked woman pounding against the boundaries between dimensions, trying to break out.

 

* * *

 

Summers released her hold on Jack's head and his consciousness flooded back into his body, all at once. He jolted upright, before the acrid stench of the ruined cocoon filled his lungs and he forgot how to breathe. Church followers lay writhing on the ground, from stun blasts, psychic blasts, and quantum magic blasts, and intergalactic martial arts. 

Jack scrambled to cover his face, and pulled himself onto his feet. Still shaking, he rejoined the others at the makeshift defences, trying his hardest to make it look to the rest of the team like he wasn't about to throw up from shock.

A few feet ahead of them, one more of their number, cloaked in red, her voice hoarse from screaming, her quantum sword dug into the body of a Church of Universal Truth experiment.

Phyla-Vell turned around. The sword fell from her hands and cluttered to the floor. She staggered forwards, into Moondragon's arms.

  
  
“I'm sorry, Heather.” She whispered. “After I told you... I let you down. I let everyone down.” 

“It's okay, Phyla.” Moondragon wept. “You're here. You're here with me.”

Life and death. Quill always said that the trick was to keep the books balanced. But sometimes? Sometimes, the good guys get a win.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's just common sense, really. Don't venture into the Cancerverse without an avatar of death.
> 
> NEXT: Peter Quill, Richard Rider, and the terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.


	3. Incursion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter Quill, Richard Rider, and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day.

**EARTH-10011,**  
**THE CANCERVERSE.**

Live.

Pound your head against the fault line between dimensions until your skull cracks open.

Die.

Live Again.

Repeat.

It was amazing, Peter Quill thought, how quickly the human brain turns the unthinkable-- the impossible-- into a routine. Either that, or the repeated blunt-force trauma to the head was finally starting to get to him.

“Richie.” Quill croaked out a hoarse laugh as the air returned to his lungs. Bone and sinew wove back together as his wounds bound themselves. It was, Quill asserted, the only thing they could do to make the situation bearable. Gallows humour and slapstick were the only things they had left. “…Not one of my best ideas.”

Nova jolted upright beside him, gasping for air. “Namorita!” Another routine. Her name was the first thing Rich screamed when he woke back up. He held his head in his hands for a beat, before regaining his composure. “…You say that every time, Quill.”

They failed. Thanos had escaped through the Fault before it closed. Something else escaped with him. For all they knew, their galaxy had been conquered, everyone they knew was dead, and the three of them were trapped in this limbo—this collapsing reality—until either the Fault broke or they did.

“I’ve got to make conversation somehow—“ Quill lurched to his feet, wincing. That last run at the fault broke one of his legs. The bones in his calf were painfully resetting themselves. “Not like we’re going to get anything out of the statue.”

Quill pointed a thumb to the prostrated figure of Drax, up on the ridge.

Drax broke first. His resurrection was inevitable, given where they were, but Drax took failure the hardest. He sat on a ridge beside them, stone still and silent, for as long as Quill could remember. Was he scared? Quill considered the thought.

“Just doing what we’ve always done.” Quill dusted off his battered uniform, pulled his helmet back on, and made another charge for the Fault. “Put together what we have and improvise.”

Slam. Slam. Slam.

Crunch.

Skull fracture.

Collapse.

Live.

Pound your head against the fault line between dimensions until your skull cracks open.

Die.

Live Again.

Repeat.

It was amazing, Peter Quill thought, how quickly the human brain turns the unthinkable-- the impossible-- into a routine. Either that, or the repeated blunt-force trauma to the head was finally starting to get to him.

“Richie.” Quill croaked out a hoarse laugh as the air returned to his lungs. Bone and sinew wove back together as above them, red clouds gathered in the sky and the faint image of a sphere came into focus. “—Whoa.”

Nova scrambled to his feet beside him, seemingly at a loss for words. That was new. Quill glanced up, and he saw the sphere grow larger. Oceans came into focus. Then clouds. Then he could see the distinctive landmasses. Even after years, he immediately recognised the planet.

It was Earth.

Drax, for the first time in however long they had been stuck in this life-without-death, rose to his feet and stomped down the ridge, joining the two by the Fault.

“Welcome back to the land of the living, Drax—“ Quill wheezed. “Are you seeing what we’re seeing?”

Space-time contracting. Worlds coming into contact. Quill looked over his shoulder, and saw Drax give a terse nod of agreement.  


Peter Quill did not know, yet, that the Illuminati of Earth-616 had termed this phenomenon an ‘Incursion Point’.

 

He was also unaware that, in eight hours, both worlds would be destroyed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I graduated college! Thanks for being patient. I fixed the formatting and some of the grammar on chapter two.
> 
> NEXT: Checking in with Phyla. And Whose Quill is it anyway?


	4. Quasar

**Debrief Log: Martyr (Phyla-Vell, Half Eternal, Half-Kree. Avatar of Oblivion.)  
Recently returned to life.**

**Ten Days Ago.**

Phyla had been Martyr for longer than she had ever been Quasar, but her wrists still felt naked without the Quantum Bands. She tapped her fingers against the wall, staring into the lens of the recording device. The room was claustrophobic, barely bigger than a broom closet, and almost certainly smaller than the area they set aside for debriefings when Quill led the team. She felt like she was encased in Limbo Ice. Unstuck in time.

It reflected the rest of their quarters on Knowhere. Scatter-shot. Rebuilding in secret.

But safe, for the time being.

Phyla pulled her cloak around her shoulders, sighed, and began her report:

“Oh, Pama. I don’t see how this is even remotely possible.”

It was the truth. She didn’t. Heather told her that she was an immolated husk one moment, and alive and fighting the next. All Phyla had to get from Point A to Point B were some half-imagined recollections from a man who openly admitted to barely understanding even the fundamentals of cosmic life, and the cryptic statements of a largely pre-occupied Adam Warlock. Even the pirate didn’t stick around long enough to explain how she brought her back into being. Or—how she continued being, or never stopped being, or was realigned from one state of being back to another. However the situation had resolved itself. “I suppose I should be used to that by now. Genis often spoke of a universe prior to this one, in which I was never brought into being.”

“I thought that was wishful thinking on his part,” Phyla rolled her shoulders in an exaggerated shrug for the recording device. “Siblings.”

After a meal, a shower, and as long a visit to Heather as she was allowed in their makeshift medical bay, Phyla had spent her time on Knowhere reading up on galactic affairs in her absence. Thanos and—Phyla stopped herself from calling it _her mistake_ —were stopped, as were the terrors that came out of the Fault, but not without sacrifices. Peter and Nova both trapped in a dying universe. And, as she was later informed—a different Peter Quill came out the other side. With Thanos. Mantis and Adam formed a team for a rescue operation.

And they were pausing this rescue mission to ensure she was in the _right frame of mind_ to help them. _Das’t it_ , Phyla thought. The entire situation was patronising.

“I can see why the team thinks this is necessary—I wasn’t exactly in a good frame of mind the last time we spoke.” Her thoughts wandered back to the deal she had made to secure Heather’s own revival. She felt different than before—events in her memory that hadn’t happened, based on the information Heather relayed to her since her revival, or hadn’t happened like she had said they happened—but she was still, she thought, the Avatar of Oblivion. “And they likely believe there to be strings attached to my resurrection. Or whatever it was.”

“So, no. I don’t know how I came back.” She said, finally. “That’s going to have to suffice for my debriefing.”

Phyla shut the recording device off and opened the door, exiting into the cramped lounge area in their makeshift hideout. With the others either in the medical bay or tending to other problems, the lounge was almost empty. Piled up crates of equipment not important enough to unpack, and furnishings to keep the place looking at least somewhat comfortable.

Across the room, Jack Flag sat on a couch dredged up from the lower levels of Knowhere, kicking his feet up on one of the crates, with a shot glass in hand. A small wooden case sat on the crate beside him. He gave her a lazy wave.

“Starhawk told me, years back, that I had a unique destiny to reshape the universe.” Jack said, in his southern drawl. “I guess the universe owes you a favour.”

Phyla winced, a brief flash of remembering the times Drax got existential on her. She kept her arms folded, glancing down at the man.

“Were you listening in?” She asked.

“Not my style.” Jack just shook his head. “I know we weren’t close the first time around, but it’s good to have you back.”

“Worked for S.H.I.E.L.D. some in the interim. Cosmic level threats. Got myself in a state of being too cosmic for the terrestrials and too terrestrial for the cosmics.” Flag swilled his glass, and Phyla stood with her arms folded, wondering what the point of his speech was. “Met a curator at one of their facilities who seemed to get where I was coming from with it. Good guy. Retired, these days. When he figured out where I was headed—he sent these along with me.”

Flag picked up the crate with his free hand and offered it to her. Phyla took it, and—reasonably sure of the contents-- carefully opened the clasps. Two golden bands sat inside, each set with seven gems.

The Quantum Bands. Her Quantum Bands.

Phyla closed the case, and looked at the outside of it. A small, handwritten note was affixed to the case. Phyla unfolded it, and read the contents: _News travels fast in the galaxy these days. They’re yours. You need them more than I do._

“Retired? The bands only come off when you die.” Phyla crumpled the note. Granted, Vaughn always had a complicated relationship with the quantum bands, but given everything she had failed to—

Suffice to say, Phyla hardly felt like the Protector of the Universe right now.

Flag, for his part, just offered her a shrug, and grumbled something about _cosmic stuff_ that Phyla couldn’t quite make out.

But Phyla needed no stirring speech, nor any grand epiphany, and she doubted the Quantum Bands would listen to her objections anyway. When Adam Warlock entered the lounge an hour later with news on Quill’s location, Quasar was ready.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NEXT: No, really, what's been going on with the Imposter Peter Quill?


End file.
